


two Stars searching, one Universe found

by BnessZ



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bokuaka - Freeform, Boys In Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, Implied Reincarnation, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Stars, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, implied soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 02:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16986741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BnessZ/pseuds/BnessZ
Summary: Akaashi Keiji does not really want to fall in love, but Bokuto Koutarou falls into his orbit





	two Stars searching, one Universe found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltsaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsaurus/gifts).



> This is for [Bia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsaurus/pseuds/saltsaurus). Happy birthday, my love!! (a week early, but hush xP). I wanted to do the stars and bokuaka and all this for so long and I can think of no one more worthy of it being gifted to, thus i also added KuroTsukki JUST FOR YOU. I love you so much and i hope you enjoy:)  
> (there are no urine eyes tho, sorrynotsorry) 
> 
> Also huge thanks to [James](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soddingpotter/pseuds/soddingpotter) for being there for me the whole time and then also to [Anna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annakaashi/pseuds/annakaashi) and [Mira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaashisBitch/pseuds/AkaashisBitch) for helping beta. i appreciate you guys so much<3
> 
> This fic is really very dear to my heart, so without further ado!~

_ The stars will never lead you astray;  _ a phrase Keiji’s mother often told him in his youth.

 

Keiji wonders about that, standing in front of his apartment building, head tilted to the sky. A breath of air escapes his mouth, misty in the chill of night. It’s clear out. The stars shine down at him, as if looking at him,  _ through  _ him, against an inky blue, one shade away from black. 

 

He subconsciously reaches an arm up, as if he could cup the stars into his hands. His sleeve falls, yellow light of a street lamp illuminating four colored lines. A silver one nearest his elbow, black above it, green hovering over that, and then, near the middle of his forearm, angry red, like blood against his skin.

 

Four lives lived without his soulmate beside him. 

 

A crash comes from his left, and Keiji whips his head around, hand falling to his side. Stifling silence, stillness. And then, a curse, heavy and hurried footsteps. A burst of energy passes Keiji by, like a warm gust of wind. He sees colors, streaking silver, flashing gold, screeching lime green. Then, sudden as it came, it’s all gone with a howl of laughter. 

 

Keiji almost thinks he imagined it all but, as he blinks into the night, his skin burns. 

 

Above, one star brightens, a breeze passes, whispering a name that Keiji just barely misses. A secret just out of his grasp. 

 

He shakes his head, climbs the stairs of the building. He hasn’t been led astray yet, he supposes, in this life, at least. But he does remain shackled. One of these lifetimes, Keiji figures his luck will have to change. 

  
  


*

 

_ The stars watch over you, protect you. _

 

Keiji sits on the stairs outside his building. A cloud passes over the moon, constellations cut in half, and he lets out a sigh. He'd rather have a blanket around his shoulders, a cup of tea curled in his hands, computer screen filled with pictures in front of him. Editing before sleep is his lullaby, and yet, he sits here, waiting. Another breath spills from his lips. He tilts his head back to gaze at the stars, but instead finds a smirking face. Shadowed pools of honey look down at Keiji, yellow hair glowing as the moon is unblocked, shining. Glasses are half slid down the nose, but that does nothing to soften the look.

 

“We haven’t even gone anywhere yet, Keiji,” he says, “You can’t be this annoyed yet.” 

 

Keiji pushes himself up, levels his gaze to Tsukishima's. “Remind me why we're going again.”

 

Scoffing, Tsukishima turns away, starts walking. His strides are long, graceful in a lazy way, like a cat. “Tetsurou has been begging to meet you.”

 

Keiji can’t say he’s surprised. Tsukishima has been dating this guy for months now, but he’s always been hesitant to introduce boyfriends to anyone. Part of this, Keiji knows, is because Tsukishima is a private person, not one to parade around any part of himself to others. But another part, a more distressing one, the one Keiji looks out for like a hawk, is because Tsukishima has had his fair share of dirtbags. 

 

“And it had to be this late? At a bar?” Keiji falls in step beside his friend, his strides careful and quiet, a ghost. 

 

“That's how Tetsu works.” Tsukishima's voice is resigned, but a hint of a smile pulls on his lips.

 

Keiji decides not to reply. Whenever Kuroo is mentioned, Tsukishima's expression softens, almost becoming gentle. It's a rare sight, one Keiji saw only a handful of times in college. It's good. It means the man is happy, finally in a place where he can be content, with shining eyes and stories to unravel. It's good and Keiji is happy for him.

 

But something about it tugs at Keiji's heart in a painful manner.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Tsukishima says, just at the entrance of the bar. He doesn't turn around, but he stops and looks at Keiji from the corner of his eye. His expression is devious and Keiji already knows he isn't going to like where this is going. “Tetsu is bringing a friend, too.”

 

Keiji stiffens, blood freezing. The lines on his arms itch. “Kei, I thought we—”

 

“Yes, Keiji, I remember our promise.” He snorts, redirecting his gaze and takes a step forward. “I'm not saying you have to like him, but do be civil.”

 

Keiji lets out a sigh, waits for warmth to come back to his fingers before reaching out to the door. “Says you.”

 

Loud music shakes his skull immediately, the speakers cracked from being too often blared, leaving the words incoherent mush. Bright lights swirl around them as Keiji follows Tsukishima; red that trails every line, steady blue, a skipping yellow, and pulsating green. It's Tuesday night, which means it isn't very packed. The dance floor has a few occupants, most drunkenly grinding on sweaty strangers. The bar itself is full, lined with people’s shrill laughs, slamming drinks down like water. Walking past it, to a grouping of all but abandoned tables, Keiji brushes against too much skin, too many hands lingering on him, and he just about turns away to leave.

 

But then a hand is raised, waving eagerly, and Tsukishima's lips quirk back up, ever so slightly, and Keiji finally finds himself stopping at a table. The noise is muted back here, if just a bit, and the amount of bodies is drastically lower.

 

“Kei!” The voice is deep, cracking with excitement. The man slings an arm around Tsukishima, places a wet kiss on his cheek, and then turns to Keiji. His hair is black, a shade lighter than Keiji's, but stands at an odd angle. It looks like bad bed head, or maybe like he got lazy in doing a Vegeta cosplay. The eyes, though, draw Keiji in, against his better judgement. They're warm, a nice amber that melts in the yellow lamplight. They would be easy to get lost in, to be embraced and kept in that gaze. But there is something else in them, something fragile beyond the mischief, something that Keiji recognizes because he wears it as well.

 

“Hey!” He says, hand darting across the table. “You must be Akaashi! Kei talks about you a lot.”

 

Keiji meets the hand for a shake and is surprised at how soft the other is. “You must be Kuroo-san. Kei  _ rarely  _ mentions you.” 

 

Tsukishima snorts as Kuroo whips an appalled expression on him. “I'm hurt, babe. Really, truly.”

 

“Maybe you should be worth talking about more, then.”

 

Keiji feels his lips twitch upward. Beside Kuroo, a loud laugh, followed by a slap on the table. “Tsukki got you good, bro!”

 

Tsukishima wrinkles his nose. “Please stop calling me that, Bokuto-san.”

 

Another laugh, vaguely familiar. Keiji turns to the voice, full on. A man sits there, a splitting grin on his face, slamming his palm on the table like there's no tomorrow. He dons a lime green jacket, bright, painful to look at, still glaring and sharp in Keiji's mind. Spiked silver and black hair rest on his head, bits of it beginning to fall into his face. His eyes are shut, laugh loud, all consuming. Keiji wonders if that's how it sounds when stars collide.

 

Tsukishima looks away from him, meeting eyes with Keiji. A smirk crawls up his face. “Tetsu, won't you introduce Keiji here to your friend?”

 

“Hey! You say that as if we're not friends, Tsukki!”

 

“We're not.”

 

Kuroo's laugh cuts them off, an ugly sound, halfway between a bark and a wheeze. He looks back at Keiji and suddenly it makes sense. The attraction Tsukishima has to this man, the fact that he can put up with Tsukishima's snark; Keiji can see it all in that shit eating expression. 

 

This does not bode well for him.

 

“Listen up, Akaashi, this here is my best bro, my ride or die, my partner in crime, my—”

 

“I'm Bokuto Koutarou!” The man interrupts, voice far too loud, filled to the brim with sundrops. 

 

“Mmm,” Akaashi says, finally taking a seat. He's not near any of them, not as close as they are to each other. He sits away, just enough, just like always. “Akaashi Keiji.” His voice is velvet, heavy and soft.

 

The obvious question rests on the tip of his tongue, about that night in the alleyway beside his apartment, but when Bokuto grasps his hand, palm calloused and large and  _ hot _ , it's like supernovas across Keiji's skin. Keiji pulls away, tries to keep the polite smile in place, and finally locks eyes with Bokuto. 

 

Keiji's heart skips a beat, breath lodged in his throat. Eyes of molten gold stare at him, shifting, warm and inviting, a bright new universe within them. Freckles across the bridge of his nose, like constellations, almost unnoticeable. 

 

Keiji's heart is hammering in his ears, his skin alight, only the lines on his arm feel cold.

 

Bokuto's mouth is screwed shut, eyebrows pinching together. Confusion swims in his eyes, but he doesn't look away. Keiji doesn't either.

 

A throat clearing, louder than necessary. “So, Akaashi, what do you do?”

 

Keiji peels his gaze from Bokuto. Kuroo is leaning forward on the table, Tsukishima resting on his shoulder. “I do interpreting, and if you ask me to say something in another language right now, I'll leave.” 

 

Kuroo's jaw snaps shut, causing a chuckle from Tsukishima. It's light, genuine, and Keiji grins at the sound of it. He hasn't heard Tsukishima laugh like air itself in at least a year.

 

The four of them fall into conversation. How Kuroo works at a pharmacy, his side of the story on how he met Tsukishima by spilling coffee on him in a rush to get to work:  _ I was so calm and composed though,  _ followed immediately by Tsukishima,  _ You literally told me I may as well take my clothes off.  _ Bokuto's howl of laughter almost drowned out the _ , Well you asked what to do with your coffee soaked clothes and I panicked! _ They talk about how Bokuto works for a magazine, venturing to far away places, ones most people haven't even heard of, but always finding his way back home. 

 

Keiji learns a lot of little things: Tsukishima can, in fact, blush. For every dumb comment Kuroo has, Tsukishima has a rebuttal. For every loud sentence Bokuto speaks, Kuroo has a way to make it worse, and Keiji's stomach flips. Bokuto's eyes crinkle when he laughs, Bokuto scratches the back of his neck if he thinks he's said too much, Bokuto cannot stay still to save his life and his movements are large, exaggerated, and he really is the embodiment of life.

 

Drinks come and go, Keiji's head is just starting to spin, when he says,  _ “We should probably get going.” _

 

He gets three different looks in return. Tsukishima looks bored, Kuroo's eyes are wide, and Bokuto blinks at him rapidly. “What?”

 

“Was that….” Kuroo cocks his head to the side, scrunches his brows together. “Was that Chinese?”

 

Keiji blinks, once. Twice. A third time, thinking back. Tsukishima has already answered for him, but, as he replays it in his mind, Keiji snorts. “I suppose it was.” He puts a hand over his mouth, lets out a giggle, a hiccup of a noise, like a stone skipping on water. Another snort, and then Keiji forces himself to stop, clears his throat. He must've had more than he realized. 

 

Owlish eyes are on him, wide, mouth hanging open. Keiji fidgets and avoids the gaze, instead looking at Tsukishima. “I was trying to suggest us leaving soon.”

 

Tsukishima muses, lifting his chin and smirking. It's a look Keiji knows well, and dislikes. One that used to be turned towards him in spite, but now has a teasing glint. “Didn't I tell you? I'll be going to Tetsurou's. On the opposite side of town.”

 

“No. You didn't tell me.” Everything is fuzzy, swaying. Keiji sighs. “You expect me to walk by myself like this?”

 

“Of course not.” Tsukishima and Kuroo both sneer at him, but something about Tsukishima's is soft, cautious. Keiji thinks it might be a trick of light. Or the alcohol. “Bokuto-san lives in the same direction.”

 

Keiji stills, eyes struggle to focus on Tsukishima. He's looking at Keiji with a mix of apprehension, mirth, and a hint of something else. Something that Keiji refuses to name. Tsukishima's head tilts towards Kuroo and Keiji clicks his tongue, looks away.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Keiji sees Bokuto perk up. “I'd be happy to walk with you!”

 

Again, as Keiji turns to him, his body goes hot, tingly, like thousands of firecrackers in his veins. Something about Bokuto is fire, flames dancing off his skin and curling around Keiji. It's all entirely too much but he can't pull himself away. He sighs. “Only if it isn't any trouble for you, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Of course not!” Impossibly, his smile goes up in voltages. Blinding. The entire existence of Bokuto Koutarou is blinding and overwhelming and  _ enticing _ . He stands up, bounces on his toes, and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The green jacket. The same one from the other night and Keiji has so many questions and no starting point for them. 

 

Kuroo pushes away from the table to stand, making more noise than necessary in doing so, as if putting on a show. He tackles Bokuto into a hug, one the man returns, and they yell things about ”bro” and missing each other. It reminds Keiji of high school girls. Tsukishima just rolls his eyes and moves back to Keiji’s side, leaning in to whisper, “So?” 

 

Keiji grins, puts a hand on Tsukishima’s shoulder. “Stop looking like I’m about to scold you.” 

 

_ Tch.  _ He looks away, a pink creeping across his face, and Keiji gives a short laugh. “Kuroo-san seems great, Kei, really. You two are cute together.” 

 

A smile spreads across Tsukishima’s face and he even pulls Keiji into a hug. “Seems we all had more than expected tonight,” Keiji remarks, but he returns the gesture. 

 

“Mmm. Thank you, Keiji, for coming here. And sorry ‘bout Bokuto-san.” 

 

“Please don’t apologize,” Keiji replies, pulling away. “It’s creepy.” 

 

Tsukishima snorts. “Asshole.” 

 

Smirking, Keiji bids farewell to Kuroo, who throws his arms around him enthusiastically, exclaiming  _ it’s so nice to meet Kei’s friend, I’m so happy, we’ll have to hang out more, please!  _ Before Tsukishima pulls him away, muttering about a drunk. They disappear into the crowd and Keiji turns to grab his jacket, but Bokuto is already there. He stands, an arm’s length away, Keiji’s jacket in hand. The lighting at this angle illuminates half of his face, making it warm, soft, the eyes shimmering beneath fallen hair. The darker half is harsher, shadowed and mysterious.

 

The sun and moon, all in one. 

 

Keiji licks dry lips and slips the jacket on. “Thanks.”

 

“There’s an exit here, outback.” Bokuto says, shifting his weight. “If you’d rather avoid the crowd.” 

Keiji’s eyes widen slightly, but Bokuto just gives a squinty eyed grin and takes a step away. Sparing a last glance at the bar, Keiji follows. Is his dislike of crowds that obvious? Or is it something else? 

 

They slip between empty tables, to the very back where a door is all but hidden. A sign on it reads  _ This door to remain locked, for personnel use only.  _

 

“Um, Bokuto-san—” 

 

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” There’s a laugh in his voice as he crouches down, tongue poking out the side of his mouth. He slips something into the lock, tinkers for a few moments, and then the door is swinging open. 

 

“Bokuto-san, did you just—”

 

“It’s fine,” He repeats, smiling still, gesturing for Keiji to go ahead. “I do this every time.” 

 

Keiji bites down the  _ that doesn’t make it fine,  _ comment and steps outside. The cool air washes over his face, welcoming, like a fall morning after a gruelling summer. A contented sigh passes Keiji’s lips. He glances up, a few stars break through the clouds. Always there, always watching. The door closes behind him. Keiji doesn’t look back, but asks, “Do they know you leave that way?” 

 

Bokuto hums, walks past him, waits for Keiji to step beside him. “I used to work here and even then, I never used the front entrance. The manager probably suspects, but no one ever says anything.”  

 

Keiji doesn’t respond, quickly discovering that he doesn’t need to. Bokuto fills the silence with chatter, random facts about flowers  _ (did you know that flowers didn’t always exist? The first flower appeared about 140 million years ago—),  _ the most unconventional story he has been assigned to  _ (I had to go all the way to England just to taste these teas for one article—),  _ and anything else his mind can possibly think of  _ (Tetsurou and I once took a three hour train ride just to prank our friend and—) _ . Hums and one worded answers are all Keiji gives, but Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind. It’s strange, how it seems to ease Keiji’s mind, when usually, this sort of noise bothers him, makes him restless. It’s strange, he thinks, how the man next to him makes him feel relaxed but also like he is on fire. 

 

Keiji only stops when  _ the stars look nice, don’t they? Almost like they’re looking out for us _ comes out of Bokuto’s mouth. He stops, looks up again, feels his lips quirk upwards. For the first time that evening, Keiji forgets about the lime green jacket, forgets that this person is a stranger. He simply soaks in the dim light of night, lets the sudden stillness sink into his bones. 

 

“Yes,” Keiji breathes. “I suppose so.” 

  
  


*

 

_ The stars will fall around you as you break. _

Keiji dreams in color. 

 

As always, in these dreams of a life already gone, the person in front of him is a grey blur. They hit Keiji in the face, an electric blue. He staggers backwards, watches as they try to run away. It’s futile. He catches up to them, and then it’s a simple flash of yellow, speeding silver, and then red is spraying everywhere. The blur turns into white marble, falling to the floor and shattering, drenched in crimson. 

 

A white hot flare consumes Keiji and he falls, screaming, watching a red line slowly appear on his arm. 

  
  


*

 

_ The stars shoot across the sky; hope for you to cling on to.  _

 

A loud, persistent knocking wakes Keiji up. 

 

He groans, rolls over to check the time. It’s before noon, on a Saturday. Clearly, whoever is at his door has a death wish, and he’s fairly certain he knows who it is; only one person in his life has the nerve. This same person has a key though so  _ why is he slamming on the door instead.  _ Keiji huffs, tosses the blankets off of him, and gets up. He throws on the first shirt he sees, pulling on an old pair of black sweatpants. When Keiji opens the door, he knows exactly how he looks. His friend, however, is unperturbed. 

 

“Keiji! There you are.” Konoha says, his smile a bit too teasing to be genuine. “Good morning!” 

 

Keiji closes the door and walks into his kitchen. He doesn’t even flinch when it bursts back open. “Keiji, that was rude!” 

 

“Says the one who woke me up,” he yawns, starting a pot of coffee. “What do you want, Aki?” 

 

“My, my, so grumpy.” Konoha leans over the breakfast bar, blue eyes sparkling like the ocean under the sun, lively and mischievous. “A little birdie told me that you went out the other night.” 

 

Sighing, Keiji grabs two mugs, making sure to pour plenty of sugar into the first one. “Is this why you keep calling me?”

 

“Yes. And how rude of you to not answer.” 

 

“I was working.” 

 

“Working hard on ignoring me, maybe.” 

 

Keiji shrugs, handing Konoha a mug. He keeps the plain one for himself. The taste of black coffee makes his nose crinkle, but the bitterness helps wake him up. There’s a long stretch of blissful silence where he can breathe in the richness, let the taste linger on his tongue, before Konoha starts again. 

 

“So?”

 

He raises a brow above the mug. 

 

Konoha huffs. “You met Kei’s boyfriend, right? And another guy? How are they?” 

 

“Isn’t it too early for twenty questions?” 

 

“Keiji.”

 

A long breath escapes his lips and he sits down. His head is still foggy with sleep, mind still swirling with impossible dreams and hints of who he once was. Another sip of coffee, scorching down his throat. He closes his eyes. “They were fine, Aki. I think Kei finally found someone who can put up with his asshole ways. Kuroo-san seems very smitten.”

 

“Okay, but—”

 

“It’s different this time.” Keiji opens his eyes, stares at Konoha, unwavering, as the world finally breathes to life around him. “Just trust me.”

 

“I trust no one more,” Konoha says through a sigh. “Well, except maybe Yukie. She could still decide to break my heart though.”  

 

Keiji’s lips curl, he glances at Konoha’s arm. One line, golden. “She would never.” 

 

“Mmm.” Konoha’s eyes unfocus for a moment and he grins. The sound of Keiji’s mug brings him back, shaking his head. “Anyways, what about the other guy?” 

 

Keiji muses, looks off to the side, unfocused. “Bokuto Koutarou.” The name rolls off his tongue smoothly, leaves an aftertaste in his mouth, like honey. “He was… interesting.” 

 

“Interesting, you say?” Konoha waggles his eyebrows. Keiji sneers back. “Wait. Did you say Bokuto Koutarou? Holy  _ shit _ , Keiji.”

 

“What?” 

 

“Keiji, are you stupid?” 

 

Another sigh. It is exactly one hour and forty-five minutes, and three cups of coffee too early for this. “Aki, what is your point?” 

 

Konoha puts his mug down, rougher than necessary, and spins around. He rummages through the stack of papers on Keiji’s coffee table, beating Keiji to saying anything with reassurance to not scramble them up. Sipping on his coffee, Keiji watches with amusement as Konoha mutters to himself, looks through any and all shelves and stands that Keiji owns. Finally, with a loud  _ AHA,  _ Konoha holds a magazine up high. He walks over, waving it, and throws it on the table, pointing. 

 

“This.” 

 

Keiji sets his drink down, moving to look. The cover is simple, compared to most. It has a picture of a night sky on it, the full moon peering just above fluffy clouds, surrounded by stars. Bright white font at the top reads  _ Inkspot _ and little catchphrases fill the sides. 

 

Keiji has never picked up a magazine so quick in his life. 

 

“Wait. Bokuto-san writes for them?” 

 

“Again, Keiji,” Konoha laughs. “Are you stupid?” 

 

“Shut the hell up, Aki.” He flips to the table of contents, finds the name, goes to page twenty. There, an article, with the name  _ Bokuto Koutarou  _ right under the title. Keiji has kept this magazine for over a year because he enjoys it that much. It’s an interview about a man who went to live in other countries for two decades, learning the languages and cultures as he went. The interview is raw, filled with emotion, and so many stories Keiji has always wanted to know more of. He marvelled at how the author brought the emotions and imagery to light, how it felt like Keiji was sitting right beside the man in question. 

 

Keiji puts the magazine down, rubs his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god.” 

 

“You’re stupid.” 

 

If Konoha gets a magazine thrown at his face, resulting in a paper cut on his lip, well, Keiji will stand by the fact that he deserved it. 

~

Later, they meet Shirofuku for dinner.  

 

Shirofuku, who gives Keiji a tight hug, looks up at him with shining hazel eyes. “I missed you, Keiji! How have you been?” 

 

He grins, sliding into the booth beside Konoha. “Oh, same as always. I’ll be travelling next week for work.” 

 

Launching into an interrogation, Shirofuku leans her elbows on the table. She asks for every detail and for lots of pictures, Keiji turns the conversation away from him and listens to Shirofuku talk animatedly about the last geological survey she went on. How they can trace where the river used to be, how long ago the volcano last erupted in that area, how the beach has moved miles and miles away from its original location and—

 

“Sorry, sweetie, but is that Kei?” 

 

Keiji’s head snaps up, following Konoha’s gaze. Three men stand by the front door. The brooding one is in fact Tsukishima, followed by Kuroo’s barking laughter, and a bouncing Bokuto. The last of whom notices them first, locking eyes with Keiji and grinning wide. 

 

“‘Kaashi! Hey!” 

 

Keiji notices a dimple, but only on Bokuto’s left cheek, offset by the slight tilt of his head to the right. Something about it makes Keiji still for a moment, before lifting a hand in a lazy wave. He settles his gaze on Tsukishima in a glare as the three join them, Bokuto and Kuroo crowding Shirofuku into the corner of the booth. Tsukishima slides next to Konoha, effectively avoiding Keiji.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Kuroo says, voice oozing with charisma. “You! You must be Konoha! Which means that the lovely lady Bo is crushing must be Shirofuku.”  

 

Keiji blocks out the introductions, leans behind Konoha to gain Tsukishima’s attention. “What are you up to?” 

 

A bored look meets his gaze, something flashing across the honey eyes. “Tetsu wanted to meet Aki. Bokuto-san invited himself, as he often does.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“It takes far too much effort to lie, Keiji.” 

 

Snorting, Keiji leans away. When he looks up, owlish eyes are already on him. Conversation buzzes around them, but Keiji is entranced. It’s like two stars, two suns, two pools of liquid gold washing over him, bathing him in a warmth that settles into his bones. And then, nose crinkling, lonely dimple appearing like the first star of the night, another smile. 

  
  


“Fancy seeing you here, ‘Kaashi.” The smile is blinding, eyes squinty. Keiji tries to not stare at the dimple, the faint pink brushing over Bokuto’s nose. “I was hoping I’d get to see you again.”

 

Keiji feels something white hot settle in his gut. It consumes him, too much to be comfortable, and he is burning. Burning, flames licking his skin, circling around his heart. Soon, he will be nothing but ashes, embers to be snuffed out. The four lines on his arm are dry ice, a sharp reminder of that he is not meant for any of this.  

 

From Bokuto’s side, Shirofuku throws Keiji a look. He ignores her, curls his hands around his mug. “Yes, it’s nice to see you again.” 

 

Idle chatter falls over the table. They order food, complain about various aspects of their jobs. Kuroo asks Keiji and Konoha every question he can think of:  _ What did you study? How did you meet Kei? Favorite food? What were Kei’s exes like?  _ And so on, and so forth. Keiji only escapes when his phone rings.

 

He places money on the table, slides outside and takes the call. It’s the client in Spain he’ll be meeting with next week, and she is not happy. People pass by as he paces, trying to keep his voice steady, and they give him a varying range of looks. Most look confused, some scared, a very few amount look amused. He glares at them. They walk away. 

 

_ “They said you would be here tomorrow and they did not give me the correct paperwork, and all of our meetings are scheduled—”  _

 

_ “I fly out in exactly a week. I will find the paperwork before then. For now, reschedule everything.”  _

 

_ “I cannot believe this level of incompetence! Do you have any idea—”  _

 

_ “Yes, I apologize, I will fix what I can on my end and see you next week.”  _

 

Keiji hangs up, rubs his temples, lets out some low curses in Spanish. He needs a new assistant, since this one clearly cannot stay organized to save their life. Or Keiji’s, for that matter. There’s a whistle from behind him. Keiji groans, looks over his shoulder. It’s Bokuto, because of course it is. 

 

“I was sent to check on you.” His hands are shoved in jean pockets, an opened mouth smirk on his face as he takes a step forward. “Sounded like a fun conversation.” 

 

Through a sigh, “I just need to fire someone, no big deal.” 

 

Bokuto steps close, as if personal space is not of any consequence, and gives him a crooked grin, teasing. He’s standing a step above Keiji, peering down at him, eyes shadowed. “Sounds like you’re a fun boss.” 

 

Keiji looks up, feels his heart pound in his ears, feels his skin catch fire. Behind Bokuto, stars twinkle behind thin clouds, subdued in their beauty tonight, dull next to Bokuto. Something in Keiji's gut is tight, coiled and surrounded by butterflies. He licks dry lips, tries to keep his face impassive as he meets that gaze. Before he can think to regret it, Keiji replies, “I can be.” 

 

The smirk on Bokuto’s face widens. He lowers his head so that he’s level with Keiji, brings his face close. Too close. Keiji can feel Bokuto’s breath over his skin, hot. Something about this is so eerily familiar, like deja vu, that a shiver runs up Keiji’s spine. When Bokuto opens his mouth, Keiji can hear a feminine voice saying  _ I’d like to see that,  _ even though Bokuto’s lips haven’t formed any words yet. 

 

Before he can, Keiji clears his throat, takes a step away. “Should we go back inside?” 

 

Bokuto leans back, lifts his chin to the sky, a ghost of a crooked grin still on his lips. “Yeah, but I— Akaashi!” Bokuto’s hand flies out of his pocket, thrusting up to the sky. “‘Kaashi, look!”

 

Keiji barely catches it: a streak across the sky. A shooting star, falling to some far away land, maybe to where it’s meant to be, perhaps into someone's waiting hands. It’s bright, fast, like a neon brush stroke, and gone too soon. Keiji feels like a child, eyes wide, lips parted and pulling up into a smile. His chest is fluttering, a sense of wonder is flooding his veins, and the look of astonishment on Bokuto’s face when they lock eyes makes him let out a short laugh.   

 

Bokuto’s smile widens, eyes slipping shut. “Make a wish, ‘Kaashi!”

 

_ A wish _ , Keiji thinks. What is there to even wish for? He has a nice job, good friends, a roof over his head. Keiji doesn’t think he needs much else, and yet— 

 

“All done!” Bokuto’s eyes open back up, glowing in the inky night. A chuckle, almost like a secret, passes Bokuto’s lips, and he turns his body away, peering at Keiji over his shoulder. “You gotta hurry up, ‘Kaashi, before the magic wears out.” 

 

The marks on Keiji’s skin, the ones that tell how many lives he has lived, how many times he has been cold and alone, burn, and Keiji finds himself wishing for something he never has before, something he has tried to avoid the entirety of this life, something that tastes a bit like  _ hope _ . 

 

*

 

_ The stars hold onto our memories.  _

 

In this dream, Keiji is a nobleman’s daughter, in love with the prince. Blurs of them sneaking off, of hands and lips roaming each other, but then a whirlwind where gold is taken from Keiji, married off to someone else, but always lingering back to Keiji. 

 

Even after Keiji is forced to marry another, Keiji sneaks off with the prince, until Keiji has to move and never sees that blinding smile again. 

 

A silver line paints itself across Keiji’s bare arm. 

 

*

 

_ The stars keep your secrets safe.  _

 

The week has been long. After arriving in Spain, Keiji had immediately been whisked away to various tasks, meeting a wide range of people. His (former) assistant had messed up all of the scheduling, setting everyone into a frenzy. It took a few days to get everything smoothed out, to rearrange meetings, reorganize the timetables. 

 

Now, with only two days left, Keiji finally has a moment of free time. He takes a deep breath, sitting out on the balcony of his hotel room. The day was spent walking around the city, taking in the beauty offered, getting trinkets for everyone back home. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in orange and pink. Keiji grabs for his camera, lines up the frame to get the tapestry of colors over a water fountain, green leaves almost touching its surface. The shutter snaps, Keiji grins, leans backs, and closes his eyes. This trip, for all its setbacks, did at least allow him to take a lot of pictures, a hobby he has neglected lately. 

 

The air against his skin becomes cool as the minutes pass. Keiji isn’t sure how long he sits there, how long he basks in this moment of calm, before he drifts asleep. When his phone vibrates beside him, he wakes up, aching and stiff from sitting in that position for too long. A slow intake of breath before he peels his eyes open, grabs his phone. The number is unknown, but the name in the message preview surprises him so much that he sits up straighter. A jolt passes through his body and he stares for a moment before unlocking the screen. 

 

_ 11:02 pm  _

From: Unknown 

hey Akaashi! i got your nubmer from Tsukki nd i have an important question

how do you kno when pasta is done?

oh this is Bokuto btw

 

Keiji snorts. It seems the writer doesn’t proofread messages as much as one might expect. Before replying, he enters the number into his phone, stares at the name  _ Bokuto Koutarou  _ for a long moment, feeling that heat flare across his skin again. He glances at the time, does some quick math to figure out what time it is back in Japan.

 

_ 11:05pm _

To: Bokuto Koutarou

Bokuto-san, why are you making pasta at 7 in the morning? 

 

_ 11:07pm _

From: Bokuto Koutarou

Akaashi! thats not importnt!

 

_ 11:10pm _

To: Bokuto Koutarou

It's still weird. But typically it'll take 7 minutes, but you can also taste test them

 

_ 11:11pm _

From: Bokuto Koutarou

Oh! youre right!

hey! its 11 11 there right??? make a wish!

 

Keiji blinks at his screen. Had Bokuto really looked up the time difference? He glances up at the sky, sees the same twinkling lights he has always admired, and decides that, just this once, he'll tell them a secret. He whispers it, lets it be lost in the mist from his voice, lets it be carried away by the gentle breeze caressing his curls. It isn't a wish this time, not like when the star streaked across the sky. A grin tugs on his lips as he replies. 

 

_ 11:13pm _

To: Bokuto Koutarou

You really like wishes, don't you?

 

_ 11:14pm _

From: Bokuto Koutarou 

without wishes we would have no dreams 

 

Keiji doesn't know what to say to that, doesn’t know what to make of it. Instead, he sets his alarms and crawls into bed. The sentence is heavy on his mind even as he pulls the sheets up, tucks the phone underneath his pillow. 

 

His last thought before slipping into unconsciousness is that Bokuto Koutarou must be a very complex, intriguing person. 

 

*

 

_ The stars each hold a piece of us.  _

 

The dream is more gentle this time. A blue sky overhead, a cool breeze washing over Keiji’s skin. Everything else is, as always, a blur. All he can really tell is that, across from him, a woman sits, bouncing a child in her arms. She’s saying something, but it’s muffled and muted and he can’t hear it. The hands around his mug curl, a band shining on his ring finger, and his eyes drift. Another feminine figure approaches their table, silver hair. Through the haze, Keiji can make out a bright smile, piercing gold eyes. Keiji’s heart squeezes. 

 

But then, at her side, a man, two children between them. His grip becomes white knuckled on the mug. Something about the image in front of him is  _ wrong _ .

 

Flickers of memories pass in front of his eyes, through his ears. Accidental brushes of skin, nights filled with laughter, a smile of sunshine and life, a teasing  _ I’d love to see that,  _ so many “almost’s” and “could have been’s” and moments in between. 

 

And yet, here he sits, looking at this other family as an outsider, two lines on his arm icy hot as a green one appears. 

  
  


*

_ The stars long for someone to catch them.  _

 

Bokuto somehow worms himself into Keiji’s life. Tsukishima often invites Kuroo out with them, who then invites Bokuto, and it always ends up with the couple being sickeningly sweet and Bokuto distracting Keiji from them with misplaced jokes. Recently, Bokuto and Keiji even have to leave to escape the noises of mouths smacking together. 

 

Keiji knows Tsukishima does it on purpose, too. Can see the glint in his eye, the mirthful upturn of his lips, when Keiji walks past them. Keiji simply lifts a middle finger in response. 

 

It’s one of those times now. A brisk evening, the stars are covered by clouds, just the barest hint of moonlight filtering through. Out of the corner of his eye, Keiji can see that electric green again. Always the awful, blinding color, paired today with bright blue denim and a yellow shirt. Keiji has never seen someone be such a walking highlighter of fashion disaster before. 

 

“Bokuto-san, I have a question.” he says, before the thought can leave him as it often does.

 

“What’s that?” 

 

“A few weeks ago, you were in the alley behind my apartment at two in the morning. Why?” 

 

Beside Keiji, hands on the back of his head, Bokuto slides him a look, a mocking smile on his lips. “Why were  _ you _ outside at two in the morning?” 

 

Keiji huffs. “Late flight home from a work trip.” 

 

Musing, Bokuto lowers his hands to his pockets, kicks a pebble at his feet. “I don’t sleep much, so I explore late at night.” His voice is low, almost tentative, which catches Keiji off guard. “Sometimes it gives me writing inspiration, sometimes I end up dozing off in random alleys though.” A laugh.

 

Keiji blinks. That night, he wonders if Bokuto was writing, but fell asleep, and the crash he heard was what jarred Bokuto awake. In the grand scheme of things, he supposes it doesn’t matter much, so long as Bokuto wasn’t there trying to rob someone. Which, so far as he can tell, is impossible, considering Bokuto wouldn’t hurt even a fly. 

 

“You said you don’t sleep much?” 

 

“Nope,” He says, making a popping noise with it. “Never have.” 

 

“Why is that? Insomnia?” 

 

“Not sure.” Bokuto stops, glances up at the sky, watches the clouds pass over the moon for a moment before responding. “Nobody bothered to have me tested and, by now, I’ve figured it out enough to get by.” 

 

Keiji feels his eyebrows pull together, lips pursing. The look on Bokuto’s face isn’t warm and open as always, it’s closed and solemn. When he lowers his gaze, meets Keiji’s, Bokuto softens, the barest hint of a grin forming. “Hey, don’t give me that look. I said I’ve got it all figured out, yeah?” 

 

Affection. His voice drips with affection, so terribly raw and gentle, as if Keiji is the one hurting, as if Keiji is a close friend who needs to be comforted at this moment and— Keiji looks away, flexes his fingers, resisting the urge to reach out to Bokuto. The sleeve of his shirt suddenly feels too tight, constricting on his marks. Another reminder that he is heartless, not meant for any of this. That someone like Bokuto who carries the sun— no, is the sun itself— should stay away from him. 

 

“Akaashi?” 

 

Sucking in a breath, Keiji looks back up. “You’re okay, then?” 

 

And there it is: that face splitting smile. It looks painful, like his lips might actually tear, but it is so bright, so reassuring and filled with life that all the stars are put to shame. The breath remains lodged in Keiji’s chest. 

 

“I’m great, ‘Kaashi! Don’t worry ‘bout me.” 

 

Keiji feels his lips turn upwards, feels the gentleness reach his eyes, as the air finally escapes his lungs. “I fear I always will.” 

 

Chuckling, Bokuto nudges him, stepping forward to continue their walk. “I can see the grey hairs already.” 

 

Keiji just barely manages to not rolls his eyes. “Your hair is already salt and pepper. What does that say about you?” 

 

The response comes too quick, as if it is practiced, “That I am wise beyond my years.” 

 

A snort. “Sure, Bokuto-san.”

 

“That sounded sarcastic.” 

 

“Me? Never.” 

 

“I’m hurt, Akaashi.” 

 

Lifting a hand to his mouth, Keiji chuckles. It’s muffled by the back of his hand, but it still sounds like a choked hiccup, ending in a snort. It’s a sound he has never been a fan of. 

 

“Kaashi, you shouldn’t hide your laugh that way.” Bokuto says, and he’s looking over at Keiji again, those eyes oddly serious and boring straight into his soul. 

 

Keiji adverts his gaze, drops his hand to fiddle his fingers, to pull and twist and squeeze them. “It’s a habit,” is all he replies. 

 

Bokuto is quiet for a long moment, but Keiji refuses to turn back and meet his stare.  Finally, Bokuto says, “It’s cute, though.” 

 

Keiji’s hands still in time with his lungs, heart skipping a beat before thrumming erratically. He isn’t even sure if he’s still walking or not when he slowly moves his head back in Bokuto’s direction. 

 

Bokuto, who has his arms behind his head again, looking forward with bouncing strides, a light pink dusting the bridge of his nose. The cold could be to blame for it, as it reaches out to touch his cheeks as well, but Keiji has a feeling it’s something else. His breath catches again before bursting out of him. 

 

Keiji decides not to answer and it isn’t long before Bokuto is filling the silence again with  _ one time my sister made me laugh ‘til I peed and— Tetsurou’s laugh is the worst I’ve ever heard and— Does Tsukki ever laugh? I’ve only ever heard him snicker and cough, that jerk, and—  _ Stories upon stories of laughter, random facts about how and why the human body laughs. Keiji is amazed at how rapidly Bokuto can switch from one to the next, how he can weave them together as if they belong that way, how he knows so many random tidbits about so many things. 

 

When they part ways, Bokuto gives Keiji a genuine grin, so full of promises and warmth and galaxies, that Keiji feels weightless. Weightless and unbound, almost as if he could reach up and caress the stars themselves. When Keiji is laying in bed that night, the image of Bokuto’s fond expression burning beneath his closed eyelids, a realization forms in his gut. A swarm at first, but then it settles, warm and welcome, like a tight embrace after a long day.

 

Keiji realizes he is not as afraid as he should be. 

  
  


*

 

_ The stars will show you how to levitate.  _

 

Keiji sits on a swing beside Bokuto. 

 

A walk to the park with Tsukishima and Kuroo had, again, ended up with those two leaving him and Bokuto behind. He can't say he minds too much, though. It’s chilly out, which leaves the park all but abandoned, and this way, he doesn’t have to suffer through any more questions from Kuroo. Or, worse, listen to Kuroo drawl on and on about Tsukishima. Keiji can only handle so much of  _ your face is my favorite sight  _ and the pet names. 

 

He shudders at the memory. 

 

Bokuto grabs Keiji’s chain, just above his hand, close enough that Keiji can feel his heat, and tugs. Their swings sway side to side, Bokuto chuckling. “What’re you thinking so hard about, ‘Kaashi?” 

 

He shifts so he can get a better look at the man. The black and silver hair is completely down today, ruffled and shadowing those  aurous eyes. There is no jacket today, just a blue and green flannel thrown over a too bright orange shirt. 

 

He looks ridiculous, Keiji thinks, but he can’t get himself to look away, either. 

 

“I was just having flashbacks to Kei and Kuroo-san’s sappiness.” 

 

“Oh,” Bokuto lets out his laugh of colliding stars. “They can be pretty gross, but cute, huh?” He stops pulling on Keiji’s chain, stills himself and waits for the swings to settle before adding, “I’m glad to see Tetsurou so happy. The dude deserves it.” 

 

“Mmm,” Keiji muses. “Kei does, too.” 

 

Bokuto looks at Keiji, bashful, opens his mouth, purses the lips and looks off to the side. He twiddles his thumbs, takes a deep breath, and looks back. 

 

Keiji’s eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head the barest amount. “Bokuto-san?”

 

“You do, too,” He says, gently. “Deserve happiness, I mean, with someone who will take care of you. I mean, not that you can’t care for yourself, but I mean, like, won’t hurt you. Someone that will treasure you.” 

 

Keiji isn’t sure how long ago he stopped breathing, but under that smoldering gaze, flickering around like flames, and the voice so filled with sincerity, he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to breathe again. 

 

After too long a silence, Bokuto stands up. Keiji is about to protest, but Bokuto walks to behind him, grabs the chains and smiles down at him. “Here, I’ll push you.” 

 

It’s warm. Warm and surging and all too much as Keiji looks up at Bokuto, looks straight at those lips, those blinding teeth, sees all the freckles across his nose, the hint of pink across his entire face. He looks at the softly closed eyes, crinkled at the edges, the slight tilt of his head and that dimple, alone but somehow so  striking . 

 

Keiji swallows thickly, head still inclined backwards. “Sure.” 

 

“Hehe~” Bokuto’s eyes open, meet his, the grin slowly falling from his face the longer he looks. He moves down a half inch, pauses, clears his throat and steps back, releasing the swing. “I hope you’re ready!” 

 

Keiji is gasping for air, every inch of his skin tingling. He lowers his head, looks forward as his lips curl upwards. “I’m ready. No need to go easy on me.”

 

A laugh. Keiji’s mouth twists into a full smile just before there is pressure on his back, a push, and then the wind is in his hair, passing over his flushed face. A few more solid shoves and Keiji is bouncing at the top, a giggle slipping past his lips. If he closes his eyes, he feels like he is flying, like Keiji is truly free of any and all worldly things. As if he could jump and land among the stars. It’s the most blissful five minutes he has had in a while, and, once it ends, he feels Bokuto’s hands wrap around his, moving with the swing slowly to gain momentum back, Keiji’s eyes snap open. 

 

Bokuto is there, looking right back at him, smile wide and full of something that makes Keiji’s heart squeeze, skip a bit, soar, any other cliche he has ever heard, in endearment and longing. 

 

Maybe, Keiji thinks, as Bokuto stops the swing, as Bokuto pulls his hands away in a lingering touch, maybe being grounded isn’t so bad. 

 

Maybe Keiji has already landed among the only star that matters. 

 

*

 

_ The stars remind us where we have been, where we are going.  _

 

Keiji has only a second, in which he hears keys fall, a heavy sigh, before his front door is swinging open. 

 

Keiji doesn’t even look up. He continues typing out an e-mail, noting the sound of two pairs of footsteps. The couch moves under him, offset by a new, sudden weight. He still doesn’t react. A sigh from beside him and then, a body, close and pressing a little too much into him. 

 

A finger prods his arm and Keiji finally sighs, slamming the laptop closed and batting the hand away. He turns, finds that it is (unsurprisingly) Konoha who is right next to him, and then Tsukishima on the arm of the couch, arms folded. 

 

“Can I help you?” 

 

“Nope,” Konoha quips, wasting no time in laying his head in Keiji’s lap. “But you can help yourself!” 

 

“By kicking you out?” 

 

“You would never.” 

 

“Try me.” 

 

Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “Keiji, you once told me not to let the past hold me back.” His eyes are steady on Keiji’s face. Keiji shifts, glancing at Tsukishima’s arm, where he knows two marks rest: one a faded aqua, the other black. 

 

Licking at dry lips, Keiji looks at the far wall, ignoring both of his friends gazes. “And?”

 

“And if I hadn’t done that, I never would have gone out with Tetsu.” 

 

Keiji starts fiddling with his fingers, but Konoha grabs his hands and traces patterns into them instead. A breath passes through Keiji’s lips, wavering just slightly. “What’s your point?” 

 

It’s quiet for a long moment before Konoha’s fingers still, clasped around Keiji’s hands, and looks up at him. “Keiji, we want you to date Bokuto.” 

 

This time, the silence is tangible. Keiji looks at each of them in turn, incredulous. “Excuse me?” 

 

“I know we promised not to try and set you up,” Konoha rushes. “But Keiji, listen, you always smile when he texts you. Like, an actual smile. I never knew you could smile so much.” 

 

Keiji shoots him a glare. 

 

“Also, Bokuto-san won’t shut up to Tetsurou, which means Tetsurou won’t shut up to me, and then Bokuto calls him at all hours of the day to ramble since he doesn’t sleep and then I don’t get to make out with my boyfriend as I wish.”  

 

Konoha rolls his eyes and laughs. “Don’t listen to Kei. He’s mad that he hasn’t been laid lately.” 

 

“Yeah, I am, and Keiji could help fix that problem.” 

 

“What we’re  _ trying  _ to say is that we want you to be happy, Keiji. And Bokuto seems to make you happy.” 

 

Keiji starts fiddling with Konoha’s fingers, gnaws on his bottom lip and looks aside again. He works to calm his breathing, ignoring how the colors on his arms pulse and burn. Images flicker across his vision, of gold and bright green, silver hair reflecting the moonlight, a smile that could make the sun envious. The puffing of cheeks when Keiji makes a snarky remark, the hand laid on the owners chest with a falsely offended gasp. Large hands covered in calluses that move in sweeping motions as endless amounts of words fall from lips. The lopsided smirk after picking a lock, the yawns that are drowned with a laugh. All the little things that make Bokuto who he is and leave Keiji’s heart and hands clenching at once. 

 

“Keiji?” Konoha asks, prying his fingers away to pat them gently. 

 

“Okay,” he says, slowly. “If he asks, I won’t say no.” He looks at Konoha, steady, and then at Tsukishima, who is peering down at him over his glasses. Keiji knows he is tougher to break, tougher to convince that Keiji means it. “Honestly. I think… I like him.” 

 

Konoha lurches upwards, turns to face Keiji, hands clasped in his. “Really?”

 

Keiji rolls his eyes, feels the bright blush racing across his face. “You act as if I haven’t dated anyone. Need I remind you that I was the first to lose my virginity?” 

 

“Yeah, but this is different.” 

 

Snort turning into a cackle, Tsukishima finally relaxes. “How did I ever get stuck with you idiots?” 

 

Keiji looks at him, smirks. “Because yours truly saved your drunk ass from—”

 

“Do you have to remember everything?” Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Anyways, I’m sure the moron will be happy, and I can finally have my boyfriend back.” 

 

“Mmm,” Keiji muses. After a moment, his stomach growls and he takes his hands away from Konoha to place them there. “Anyone else hungry?” 

 

Konoha and Tsukishima nod and agree to pick out a place as Keiji changes clothes. He lays out an outfit, pulling his phone out of his current pocket, but stills. The screen lights up under his touch, displaying a message from Bokuto that he never responded to. Bokuto has had even more trouble sleeping lately than usual, blaming it on the full moon, and Keiji had wished him luck with a nap a few hours prior. The unread text is a thank you, followed by a smiling emoji. Keiji grins softly, unlocks his phone, and types out a message. 

 

_ 2:04pm _

To: Bokuto Koutarou 

You deserve it too, you know. Happiness. 

 

*

 

_ The stars are distant.  _

 

In this dream, Keiji is cold, empty, forever wandering alone, the stars silent and dull. There is no color, there is no comfort. No booming laugh beside him, no tingling at his fingertips, no noise to fill the buzzing silence. 

 

There is nothing except the searing ache in Keiji’s chest and a fresh black line on his arm. 

  
  


*

 

_ The stars wait for you. _

 

Keiji leans his head back on the cool grass, watching as his sigh turns to mist in the air. 

Bokuto settles next to him, exhaling a  _ Finally,  _ loosening his tie. 

 

They had been inside until a moment ago. Bokuto’s company is having a gala tonight, complete with live performers, auctions, and far too many people. It’s a white tie affair and when Keiji first saw Bokuto, he nearly swooned on the spot. Black and silver hair slicked back, leaving those bright eyes of melted gold even more noticeable, catching the light at every angle. The suit is simple, white shirt tucking to black pants, a fitted black jacket. Every line of muscle is hugged in the best possible way, and Keiji spent an immeasurable amount of time staring. He would have felt more embarrassed if he had not caught Bokuto looking at him the same way. 

 

It took every ounce of Keiji’s willpower to not grab Bokuto by the collar and pull him closer.

 

During the gala, Keiji tried to stay close to Bokuto but, being one of their top writers, he was dragged in every direction. Kuroo and Tsukishima proved to be no help, either. After they did one dance, Kuroo made a jab at Tsukishima for being too shy, to which Tsukishima replied  _ Yeah, well, I can still get people to spill their secrets _ . Somehow, because nothing can ever end simply with those two, it spurred a contest and they both promptly ditched Keiji to talk up strangers. After a while of shuffling between people, Bokuto had come up to him, suggesting that they take a breather. Keiji couldn't say yes fast enough.

 

Now, Bokuto points out different constellations to Keiji, tells him stories about them. Keiji doesn't mention that he already knows, that his mom taught him all about the stars when he was young. He just hums along, letting Bokuto’s voice wash over him. The sky is bright tonight, stars twinkling almost as if responding to Bokuto’s words.

 

There’s a moment of silence. Keiji hears Bokuto shift next to him. One of the hands folded on Keiji’s stomach moves without him thinking about it, settling onto the grass, palm up. He can feel Bokuto’s hand ghost over, even before the warmth brushes over his fingertips, even before a finger is curling around his pinky. Just like when they first shook hands, it sends a solar flare up Keiji’s arm, catching his breath in a snare. Keiji rolls his head over, sees Bokuto’s eyes already on him, smoldering gold, wide with amazement, his lips parted. Keiji licks his own lips, tightens the grip his pinky has on Bokuto’s finger.

 

“Hey…” Bokuto’s voice is so quiet, it’s almost lost. He clears his throat. “‘Kaashi, I was wondering—” 

 

In Keiji’s pocket, his phone rings, causing them both to jump. He ignores it for a second, before recognizing the tone as the one he set for his mother. “Ah, sorry,” he mumbles, pulling his hand away to grab it out. 

 

“Hello?” A pause filled with static, he sees Bokuto’s eyebrows furrow. “Mom?” 

 

“Keiji,” her voice is choked. “Honey, your dad—” She cuts off and Keiji can hear shuffling, a sniff. 

 

“Mom?” Keiji sits up, balls his free hand into a fist against his knee. “What’s wrong? What did dad do?” 

 

“He fell.”

 

Keiji’s heart lurches to his throat. “He— Is he okay?” 

 

“He’s alright. We’re at the hospital now. The doctors said he’s probably got a bit of a concussion and that his wrist is shattered.” 

 

A shuddering breath leaves Keiji’s lips. He closes his eyes. “What happened?” 

 

“He missed the last step on the stairs. Honestly, if he would just pay attention to his surroundings…” 

 

The worry seeps into her words, despite the light hearted nature she tries to say them in. Keiji rubs his forehead. “Okay. But you’re sure he’s okay?”

 

“In a lot of pain, but okay.” A heavy pause. “Can… can you come down and see us?”

 

Keiji chews on his lip. “I’d love to, but I don’t have a car and—”

 

“I have a car!” 

 

Keiji whips his head to Bokuto, missing his mother’s words. He’d all but forgotten that the man was there. “What?”

 

Bokuto is sitting up now, and he sways back and forth, his knees bouncing. His brows are drawn, looking serious and concerned. “I have a car. I could… drive you to them. If that’s what you need.” 

 

Keiji stares at him for a long moment. Everything is entirely too hot but too cold at the same time and breathing gets harder. He is only vaguely aware of his mother speaking, of Bokuto saying his name, but he  _ can’t breathe.  _

 

Keiji barely registers when Bokuto takes his phone, speaks a few sentences into it, and then hangs up. All Keiji is really aware of is his harsh breathing, of the icy burning of his lungs. He reaches a hand up, clutches at his chest, squeezes his eyes shut. 

 

Circles are rubbed into his back, large and soothing. Bokuto whispers to him, tells him to breathe, tells him that it’s going to be alright, he’ll drive Keiji down in the morning, everyone is okay. 

 

Keiji thinks he nods. He peels his eyes open, sees those sundrop eyes so filled with worry and raw, raw emotions. It breaks him again and Keiji finds himself leaning into Bokuto’s chest. The steady, strong beat of Bokuto’s heart helps Keiji pace his breathing, helps Keiji come back into his own and zone back in on reality. 

 

Bokuto’s heart helps Keiji remember everything he has, everything he can see and feel and understand. 

 

When Keiji goes and tells Tsukishima that he’s leaving, the snarky remark dies on Tsukishima’s tongue once he takes in Keiji’s red eyes, Bokuto’s tight frown. Tsukishima and Kuroo both pull him into silent hugs, tell Bokuto  _ you better see him home safely or else,  _ and then a strong arm around his shoulder is guiding him home. 

 

When they reach his place, Keiji asks Bokuto to stay.

 

*

 

_ The stars will always guide you back to your roots..  _

 

In the morning, Keiji wakes to a blaring alarm, forces himself up even though he is sure he only slept an hour. Bokuto is already up, having folded the blanket back onto the arm of the couch. Keiji’s oversized sweatpants and shirt just barely fit Bokuto. A grin is tossed his way as Bokuto rummages in the kitchen, makes breakfast as if he lives there.

 

Something tight cinches at Keiji’s heart and he swallows hard. The night before is a blur in his mind. The panic attack has left him weary down to his bones. When Keiji asked Bokuto to stay, Bokuto had shifted nervously, but something in Keiji’s face had him complying. They spent hours talking about the little things, the smell of morning dew on grass, foods that make them happy, the trivial things in life that are usually brushed aside. 

 

Keiji holds onto every single secret Bokuto spills of himself. Keeps them all cupped in his palms, cradled against his chest. 

 

After they eat, it’s a quick walk to Bokuto’s flat. It’s small, papers and books covering every surface; a dark blue blanket covered in sewn stars is thrown over the couch, little owls nestled in every nook and cranny. Bokuto changes quickly, packs himself a small bag just in case, and then they set off. The car is older, a little bit shaky, but Bokuto promises that it’ll hold out. A text from Keiji’s mom tells them that his dad had been sent home earlier with medication, and that they’ll be waiting at the house for Keiji and Bokuto. 

 

The drive is a few hours long and Keiji learns even more. Bokuto enjoys listening to 

either folk music, or western pop (there is no in between) and sings very loudly and off key to it. At stoplights, Bokuto will even turn to Keiji, sing a few lines at him, and then give a wide, open grin. Keiji snorts in response, but the heat crawling up his neck is impossible to ignore, and the smile that settles on his face is impossible to fight down. 

~

Akaashi Kimie pulls Keiji into a hug as soon as the door opens, her grip a little too tight. 

 

“Oh, my boy,” she says into his hair. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

 

“Hi, mom,” he grunts.

 

Kimie pulls away, kisses his cheek, and then glances behind him. The smile on her face tightens, no longer crinkling the edges of her eyes. It’s something most people wouldn’t notice, but Keiji inwardly cringes. “You must be Bokuto. We talked on the phone, right?” 

 

“Yes!” Bokuto’s voice comes out in a squeak. His energy has turned nervous, which catches Keiji a bit off guard. “It’s nice to meet you.” Bokuto sticks out his hand, shifts his weight from foot to foot. 

 

Kimie breezes past Keiji, grips Bokuto’s hand, a little too tight, based on the white of her knuckles. “You, too. Thank you for bringing Keiji here.” 

 

"Hey, yeah, no problem! He was really worried and that made me worried so I wanna be there for him, you know?” Bokuto grins, pulls his hand away and uses it to rub the back of his neck. “What's mine is his! No, no, wait that's not— I just meant that I have a car so I might as well help.”

 

Kimie’s brow raises, in almost the exact manner that Keiji’s so often does. Red is rising to Bokuto’s face and his eyes dart everywhere. Despite the tension, the hot feeling in Keiji’s gut, he giggles. His hand comes up to cover his lips, avoiding the surprised look his mother turns on him. 

 

At the sound, Bokuto seems to relax a little. He stops fidgeting, gives a small grin, and steps forward. “Hey, what did I say about covering that up?” His voice is unbearably soft. He reaches up, pulls Keiji’s fingers away from his own mouth, and smiles wider. 

 

The laugh slowly dies, caught in Keiji’s throat with his breath. He looks at Bokuto’s glowing eyes before his mother claps her hands together, making them both jump. “Well!” Kimie says, her voice airy. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make some tea.” 

 

They follow her inside, toeing off their shoes. The floor creaks on the fourth step in, as it always has, and Keiji sighs in nostalgia. The walls are still dotted with his photographs and his sister’s paintings, even though neither of them went down the art path. Kimie tells them that Keiji’s father is laying on the couch before padding away from them. Keiji tries to ignore how Bokuto’s gaze lingers on the frames, how he almost reaches out and touches one before drawing away. 

 

When they step into the living room, they find Akaashi Keito laying on the couch, one arm wrapped and propped up, the other leafing through the pages of a book. He looks up at their approach, eyes a bit glassy, head swaying just a touch. A smile splits his face. “Keiji! Welcome home.” 

 

Keiji gives a grin, kneels beside his father. “Hey, how are you feeling?” 

 

“Mmm, I’m a little sleepy right now.” His words slur slightly, probably due to medication. “But I’m fine. Just looking through your old photography book.”

 

Keiji’s breath stills. Next to him, Bokuto also kneels, leaning to get a look. “You’re…” Keiji licks dry lips. “You’re looking through my old photography?”

 

“Yes, of course. My son is talented in many ways, afterall.” He turns his head, struggles to focus for a moment before furrowing his brows at Bokuto. “Who’s this? You didn’t say anything about a new boyfriend.” 

 

“Oh, no, I’m not—” Bokuto barks out a laugh. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi’s friend.” 

 

Keito looks him over, muses, but he soon loses focus and slips his gaze back to Keiji. He leans in, to whisper. “He seems nice.” 

 

It’s loud, and Keiji knows Bokuto heard it. He ignores the warmth spreading over his face and sighs. “Yes, he is.” 

 

“Good,” Keito reaches out, pats Keiji’s cheek. It’s something he used to do when Keiji was young. It’s sloppy from the medicine, but it fills Keiji with a tingling sense of affection. His father is usually more reserved, more calculating and cautious. More like Keiji. “You deserve someone like that.” 

 

“Dad, we’re not—”

 

“Here.” Keito hands the book to Bokuto, who stares for a moment before taking it gingerly. “I’m gonna… take a nap. But I think it’s important for you to see that.” 

 

“Ah, um,” Bokuto’s eyes flicker to Keiji, back to Keito. “Sure, thank you.” 

 

Keito smiles wide, closes his eyes and hums when Keiji presses a kiss to his cheek. Keiji watches his breath become slow and heavy, until he is snoring. 

~

Dinner is pleasant, but the undercurrent leaves Keiji’s shoulders tense. 

 

Question after question from his mother is directed at Bokuto, scoping and analyzing. Bokuto, bless him, takes it all in stride, even warms up as time passes. It allows Keiji to learn a bit more about him. How he graduated college, something no one thought he would, and promptly told them all to  _ fuck right off; _ how his relationship with his parents has always been strained, not entirely healthy, but has been improving lately. He learns that Bokuto never thought he’d be a writer, but one journalism class, and he fell in love. How he never got very good grades until then, until he finally found his passion and threw himself straight into it. Little details about how he played volleyball, how he has worked many different jobs in high school, through college, before he got hired at the magazine company. He claims that’s why he has so much random trivia, why he knows little tidbits about most everything. Bokuto doesn’t tell Keiji’s mother about his sleeping problems, but he does mention, offhand, how he used to get into slumps easily, but now they are few and far between. 

 

All these little facts spill from him, as if he has no regard for how the information may be used against him. Luckily for them both, it all seems to leave a good impression on Kimie, since she leans forward and pats his hand, offers a genuine smile, and tells him that it sounds like he’s come a long way. The grin Bokuto offers in return is full of galaxies.

 

She turns back to Keiji, a fond look on her face. “You know,” she says, and her voice is quiet, “Keiji has always hated his laugh.” 

 

“Mom—”

 

“Yeah, he mentioned that,” Bokuto says. He shifts in his seat, gaze flickering to Keiji and then settling on Kimie. “I don’t know why, though. It’s adorable.” 

 

Keiji twists his hands under the table, stares at his plate. His skin is on fire again, his stomach doing gymnastics. 

 

“I agree,” his mother says. “I’m glad someone else thinks so.” 

 

“Who wouldn’t?” 

 

It’s an innocent question but Keiji’s breath catches. He can still remember the taunts he 

got as a child, jokes made at the expense of his laughter. Kimie must remember it, too, because when Keiji looks up, her eyes are fragile. 

 

“Only monsters, Koutarou-kun, only monsters wouldn’t.” 

 

Bokuto catches the tone, taps Keiji’s knee under the table. “You’re right.” His fingers brush over, pulls Keiji’s hands away from each other.

 

“Thank you…” He sputters. 

 

His mother takes pity on him, redirecting the conversation to Konoha and Tsukishima, asking for updates on their lives. The next hour is filled with stories and more laughter than Keiji can remember filling this house in a long time. 

~

Kimie sets up a futon for Bokuto in the guest room. Keiji tries to offer him the bed, but Bokuto just smiles and excuses himself to the bathroom to change. Keiji sighs, changing himself and slipping under the covers, letting all the stress from the last couple of days dissipate with a sigh. Everything is fine, Keiji tells himself. He has seen it, confirmed it all with his own eyes. 

 

The door clicks open slowly. “Are you decent?” 

 

Keiji snorts. “Yes.” 

 

Bokuto comes through, a grin on his face. He settles on the futon, sitting up, facing the bed. “I like your mom.” 

 

“Mmm,” Keiji rolls onto his side to lock eyes with Bokuto. 

 

“She seems nice. Awfully critical though.”

 

“Noticed that, did you?” 

 

“I felt like I was under a microscope.” 

 

“Yeah, she does that,” he sighs. “Just be happy my dad was on meds. He’s usually worse than she is.” 

 

“I’m sure it’s just ‘cause they love you. Want what’s best for you.” 

 

Keiji grins. “Yeah, they do.” 

 

“Must be nice,” Bokuto says. And then he blinks, shakes his head. “Ah, I didn’t mean to sound—my parents were shitty but I’m glad yours aren’t. It’s—” His eyes dart around, as if trying to reach for an answer. “It’s always nice to be reminded that not every family is broken.” 

 

Keiji feels ice clasp around his heart and he subconsciously reaches a hand out. “Bokuto-san…” 

 

A rueful smile rests on Bokuto’s lips and he reaches an arm out too, grabs Keiji’s fingers loosely, then squeezes them. “You should get some rest, 'Kaashi.” 

 

Keiji opens his mouth to say something, to try and come up with anything that could provide comfort, but then colors catch his eyes and his world shatters, falls in on him and screeches to a halt. 

 

There, on Bokuto’s arm are four lines: a silver nearest his elbow, black and green above it. The last line makes Keiji’s blood run cold, makes tears prick at his eyes and leaves him unable to breathe, unable to hear whatever words are leaving Bokuto’s lips. 

 

The fourth line is blood red. 

 

*

 

_ The stars bring others into your orbit.  _

 

Keiji feels like death. 

 

The past few days have been long at work, and Keiji has not been able to sleep, kept up all night with thoughts of golden eyes and boisterous laughs. Unanswered texts and missed calls sit on his phone from Bokuto but he cannot get himself to look at them. Anytime he thinks he might, he just sees those lines again, the ones that match his own, the ones that prove just how unworthy Keiji is to be in Bokuto’s presence. 

 

The red line is the greatest proof of that fact. The dream that accompanies it, the past life where his hands are stained with the blood of the sun, tells more than anything else ever will. 

 

A hand on his desk startles Keiji back to the present. It’s his boss, a file in the other hand. “We need you to go to America for a week.” 

 

Holding back a sigh, Keiji reaches for the papers. “When do I leave?”   
  


“Tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow? But—”

 

“We need you.” 

 

“Yeah,” he releases a long breath. “Yeah, okay.” 

When he gets home, Keiji is not as surprised as he should be to see Konoha already inside, sitting at his kitchen table, arms crossed. Keiji ignores him, taking time to remove his shoes, hang up his jacket, step into his bedroom and change. It isn’t until he reemerges, goes to the fridge without having said anything, that Konoha sighs, stands up, and traps him. 

 

“Really, Keiji, what is wrong with you?” 

 

Keiji closes the fridge, turns and looks at his best friend, knowing that he’s boxed in with the wall behind him. No escape. “What do you mean?”

 

“Don’t play dumb.” Konoha scowls. “Ever since you got back from your parents, you’ve been weird. You aren’t even talking to Bokuto.” 

 

Keiji slides his gaze away, fiddles with the cap of his juice. “It’s nothing.” 

 

“If you lie to me one more time, Keiji, I swear to god—”

 

“Okay, okay,” Keiji lets out a long sigh, bites his lip. “His marks.”

 

Konoha blinks, draws away. “What?” 

 

“I saw his marks, Aki.” His voice comes out choked and he swallows hard. “They match mine.” 

 

A deafening silence hovers over them. Keiji sees Konoha’s face flicker between emotions before clearing. “Doesn’t that mean he’s your—”

 

“It means I killed him once.” Everything cracks. His voice, the silence, the calm and bored facade he had put on. “This red line on my arm, the dreams… Aki, I killed him. I— I can’t— I don’t deserve—” 

 

“Breathe,” Konoha says, pulling Keiji into a hug. “Breathe, Keiji, it’s okay. Everything is okay.” 

 

“It’s not!” His breathing is ragged, hot and sharp and short. “This is exactly why—” 

 

“Keiji, listen to me.” His voice is gentle, a hand stroking through Keiji’s hair. “You need to talk to him. This could be the chance you both have been waiting literal lifetimes for.” 

 

“I can’t.” 

 

“Keiji, please.” 

 

“I can’t, Aki. I have to—I have to pack.”

 

“What?”

 

Keiji pulls away, wipes at his face. “I have to leave tomorrow. For work.” 

 

“But—”

 

“It’s fine, Aki.”

 

Konoha purses his lips, searches Keiji’s face, before deflating. “Call him before you go, won’t you?” 

 

“I will.” The lie is acid on his tongue. 

 

*

 

_ The stars remind you who you are.  _

 

Dreams of past lives visit him more frequently. Always grey blurs except for the shining gold and flowing red. The silver line always comes first, and then the black, green, and the very last one the same color of blood. 

 

Keiji doesn’t sleep much.  

 

*

 

_ The stars bring you together.  _

 

Keiji’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 

 

A groan falls from his lips. His plane had just landed, his phone on for not even a full minute now. He pulls it out, reads the caller ID. “Aki, are you here?” 

 

“Ah, sorry, Keiji.” He sounds distant, but not sorry at all. “Something came up, but I sent someone else. You’ll see them, so don’t worry, okay?” 

 

And then the line disconnects. 

 

Keiji is too exhausted to even be angry about it. A week trip to American turned into two and a half weeks, with meetings stacked on top of each other, Keiji getting pulled him in every direction possible by everyone who could get their hands on him. In every free moment, he was taken sightseeing. That had been a blessing and a curse, as his camera is full of beautiful images and he can’t imagine having not seen these sights, but he is dead on his feet. 

 

He hasn’t seen the stars in weeks. 

 

He follows the shuffling crowd out of the plane, makes way to baggage claim, and that’s when he sees him. 

 

Ice cold fingers grip his throat, his lungs, his heart, and he almost turns to leave without his things. But before he can, “Akaashi!” 

 

He’s shaking now, as he walks towards the man, hoping he can pass the weak grin off as fatigue. “Bokuto-san.”

 

“Hey, hey, hey! How are ya?” Bright, cheerful, too much. Keiji is on fire. 

 

He doesn’t know how to answer that question, so he asks one of his own instead. “Why are you here?” 

 

“Konoha asked me to.” His voice lowers, turns gruff. “And I missed you.”

 

Keiji  _ can’t breathe _ . “You shouldn’t be here.” 

 

Bokuto’s eyebrows pull together. “Did I do something wrong? You’ve been avoiding me.” 

 

“I just— I can’t do this, Bokuto-san, please try to understand.” 

 

“You haven’t given me anything  _ to  _ understand.” 

 

Keiji is burning ice, hollow and cracking. “I can’t.” 

 

And then he’s running, his own breathing drowning out Bokuto’s shouts, bags left behind and forgotten, hailing a cab to go home alone. 

 

*

 

_ The stars give you many, many second chances.  _ __

 

Keiji opens the door to insistent knocking, and blinks in surprise. 

 

“Kuroo-san?” 

 

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” The man lets himself in, shoving past Keiji. “Sit.”

 

If it weren’t for the bite in Kuroo’s voice, Keiji would remark that this is  _ his  _ place, not Kuroo’s. Instead, he closes the door, pads over slowly, and slumps onto his couch. 

 

“Alright, asshole, what the hell is wrong with you?” 

 

A dry laugh. “Excuse me?” 

 

“You heard me.” The amber eyes are dark and harsh. “Bo told me what happened and now he is in the worst slump I’ve seen since college.” 

 

Guilt plummets to his stomach. He licks dry lips. “I— I’m just trying to do what’s right.” 

 

“What’s  _ right? _ ” The voice is seething. The teasing, goofy Kuroo that Keiji has come to know is nowhere to be seen. This is something on par with Tsukishima’s anger. No, Keiji thinks, it’s on par with his own. Sudden, explosive,  _ dangerous _ . “What about this is right?”  

 

“I’m trying to protect him.” Keiji’s words crack. “I don’t— I can’t— He—”

 

“Tell me, Akaashi, how exactly any of this is right.” Biting, sharp, scathing.

 

Keiji considers lying. Considers telling Kuroo to get out of his home before he calls the cops, considers going down the  _ I just don’t like him anymore  _ route, but something flashes in Kuroo’s eyes and Keiji tells him everything. 

 

When he’s done, Kuroo says nothing for a long time. His face softens only a fraction of a degree, his words only a little less harsh when he finally speaks again. “You’re not trying to protect him, you’re trying to protect yourself.” A long pause as Keiji shatters more and more, ice chips on the floor. “Just because it didn’t work out those other four times, doesn’t mean it won’t now. This is a chance, for you both, so stop being a selfish asshole and  _ do something _ .”

 

And then Kuroo is gone and Keiji is sobbing. 

 

*

 

_ The stars remind us to dream. _

 

Keiji stands in front of the door, bounces on his toes, looks around, gnaws at his bottom lip. He releases a few long breaths, mutters  _ it’s okay, it’s okay,  _ to himself multiple times before finally raising a fist and knocking. 

 

Nothing. 

 

He frowns, checking the time. It’s past six in the evening. Bokuto should be home from work, just finishing up a meal, before going on his evening run turned late night wandering. 

 

He knocks again. This time, slowly, the door creaks open, and Keiji feels the air knocked straight out of his lungs. 

 

Bokuto stands there, his hair down, greasy, baggy sweatpants, a shirt riddled with holes. His eyes are faded, heavy bags under them, skin a touch too pale. He blinks, blankly, eyes widening just a touch. “Akaashi?” 

 

“Bokuto-san,” he breathes. “Can I come in?” 

 

Shrugging, Bokuto turns away and stalks back into his apartment. Keiji takes a shuddering breath, follows, peels his shoes off. When he turns back, Bokuto is sitting on his couch, staring at nothing. 

 

“Look,” Keiji says, and he cringes at how it sounds, like a protagonist from a romcom that knows he fucked up but doesn’t want to take the blame. He throws the rest of the sentence away, laying his bundle of different, brightly colored poppy’s on the coffee table. He reaches for Bokuto’s blanket, the dark blue one, covered in stars, and wraps it around Bokuto’s shoulders. 

 

“Bokuto-san, I am so, so,  _ so  _ sorry. I want you to know that you did nothing wrong. It was all me.” Keiji tightens his grip on the blanket, tries to make Bokuto hold his gaze. “I— When I saw the marks on your arm, I panicked.” 

 

That seems to grab Bokuto’s attention. His eyes become less dull, more like he is aware of where he is, who Keiji is. Keiji lets go of the blanket, fiddles with his fingers before gathering up the courage to pull his sleeve up. He watches as Bokuto wordlessly looks away from his face, down to his arm, staring. 

 

“Bokuto-san?”

 

The eyes slip closed, lips curling up, but it’s almost rueful. “They’re the same.” His voice is rough, as if he hasn’t spoken in days. 

 

Keiji starts twisting his hands in each other. “Yeah… Yeah, they are. That’s why… I was scared. The memories—”

 

“The red one,” Bokuto says. “The red one scared you.” 

 

Keiji doesn’t say anything. 

 

After a moment, Bokuto’s eyes open and he lets out a long, agonizing breath. “ _ Thank god.  _ I was so worried I’d done something wrong or that you hated me or that I was wrong about everything between us and I just— I didn’t know what to do.” 

 

“No,” Keiji says, reaching out to cup Bokuto’s face before he can stop himself. “Gods, no, Bokuto-san. I was— _ am _ —just so scared.” 

 

Bokuto pulls him into a tight hug, the blanket wrapping around both of them; a galaxy of stars holding them together. “Akaashi, I don’t care about who or what we may have been in past lives. I don’t care that our lines are the same. They could be totally different and I’d _still_ _want you_.”

 

Keiji’s chest aches. It’s a gentler ache than the past few weeks, more like a furnace than a blaze. He is thrumming, the tips of his fingers tingling, an unbearable weight lifting from his shoulders. 

 

“Bokuto-san,” he says. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” 

 

“Gods, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto breathes into his ear. “I never thought you’d ask.” 

 

*

 

_ The stars align for us.  _

 

Keiji keeps most of the date a secret. All Bokuto knows is that he is in charge of food ( _ “But why?” “Trust me, Bokuto-san, you do not want me to cook.” “Heh, even if it was awful, I would love your food, ‘Kaashi!”)  _ and to meet Keiji at the park just before sundown. 

 

He’s picked the perfect spot. Just at the crest of a small hill, right where you can see the lake water glinting in the sun, just far enough away that not many people bustle around, the grass is soft, protected from the sun’s glare by a tree. He lays down a blanket, soft and covered in little owls. It’s old, given to him just before leaving for college, but still his favorite. The fact that Bokuto is also an owl fan makes it that much more special. 

 

All he has left to do is take a couple pictures, pull up the playlist on his phone, and wait. 

 

He doesn’t have to wait long, as is often the case with Bokuto. Soon, his name is being yelled and the Sun is walking towards him, eyes bright, bright gold, like a newly polished ring, silver hair glinting, a smile so wide, Keiji’s own face hurts just by looking at it. 

 

His heart, though, feels light, a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. His skin heats up, including the lines, and he can’t stop the grin that spread on his lips. 

 

“Bokuto-san,” he says. “Welcome.”

 

Bokuto stops just short of him, looking out at the lake, hand on his forehead to shade his 

eyes. He lets out a low whistle. “You picked a good spot, ‘Kaashi!” 

 

“Mmm, I know.”

Somehow, Bokuto grins wider at him, plopping down with more force than necessary, and digging into his bag. He pulls out food, talking animatedly about each one and why he chose it and  _ it took me a bit longer than it should have ‘cause I kept forgetting something and going back to the store but I had a lot of fun and I can’t wait for you to try it and did you know—  _

Keiji feels guilty, just a bit, because he isn’t paying as much attention to the words as he is to Bokuto’s face, his eyes, his mouth, the sound of his laugh, how he almost throws much of the food when he gestures. 

The sun in the sky starts its descent and Keiji pulls out his camera. He takes shots of the changing colors over the water, over Bokuto’s smiling face, slotted through the trees. He even surprises Bokuto by suggesting they take a picture together, surely red in the face but smiling. It’s when they’re looking at that picture, Keiji making sure the lighting is okay, that Bokuto steals Keiji’s breath and heart completely in one go:

 

“Your smile is filled with universes, ‘Kaashi.” 

 

Keiji stares at him, face hot, unable to say a word, and Bokuto laughs. 

 

“Your laugh is my favorite sound, too.” 

 

Keiji sputters. “Bokuto-san, please, don’t be ridiculous.” 

 

“I’m not!” It comes out almost like a song. “I’m being honest.” 

 

Keiji takes the camera back, snaps a shot of Bokuto, the lake behind him, the last sliver of sunlight just past his smiling face. As he lowers it, he says, “You yourself are the sun, Bokuto-san.” 

 

Bokuto laughs, pulls Keiji sideways into a hug. “You won’t win against a writer, you know.” 

 

Keiji grumbles out a weak comeback and then they settle back in, eating over dumb jokes and stories from trips and childhood. 

 

“Ah, ‘Kaashi, you know, when you weren’t talking to me, I looked through that photography book.” 

 

Keiji swallows hard. “Yeah?” 

 

“Mmm, is that something you still do a lot? I mean, today is the first time I’ve seen you with your camera.” 

 

“I don’t have much time for it.” 

 

Bokuto’s eyes bore into him, curious. “But you love it.” 

 

Keiji stills, looks at Bokuto with wide eyes. “How did you know?” 

 

“Those pictures, Akaashi. They told me so much about you. You took so much care with how you lined up the shots, what kind of shots you took. They told me a lot of things.” A pause. Bokuto's fingers brush over the back of Keiji's hand. “I’m really glad your dad gave me that book.”

 

Keiji’s heart is thrumming. Those pictures are from high school, full of scenery and still life, darker palettes of colors, trying to express his innermost feelings and thoughts. If Bokuto can tell what’s in them, Keiji might just be in too deep.

 

“That’s flattering,” Keiji says, watches the fingers that ghost patterns into his skin. “Maybe someday I’ll get back into it more.” 

 

“I’ll help you!” 

 

Bokuto, Keiji thinks, really is too radiant. 

 

When the sky is inky, the stars shining, brighter than ever, Bokuto stands up and offers Keiji a hand. “Care for a stroll?” Since night has come, Bokuto is wearing that jacket again. The same jacket Keiji remembers from all those nights ago, flashing past him, bright green and so  _ Bokuto _ , that the sight of it squeezes Keiji’s heart. 

 

Keiji grins, accepts the hand, and tries to not swoon too hard when Bokuto intertwines their fingers, holding on tight, and swings their hands as they walk the edge of the lake. It’s a quiet night, only a handful of people out, one dog that smells them curiously, leans on them heavily when they pet her. After some time, they slow, stopping close to where they began. Their shoulders brush together, hands still interlaced, and they both look up at the night sky at the same time. 

 

Bokuto tells Keiji a story. About how the first people to fall in love were star crossed, literally. One was of Earth, shackled by gravity to forever wander alone. But the other, a bright, young star, watched them from afar, grew fond. The other stars ridiculed them, told them to forget the Earthling. After all, what could be better than being a star? What could be more fulfilling, more  _ grand _ ? But the star could not forget, and they watched the Earthling more and more, slowly fell in love. And then, one day, they fell to Earth. Their love was so strong, so intense, that it pulled them down to the source, and the Earthling had never smiled so brightly, as it had also been admiring the star for years. 

 

“That’s why they call it  _ falling in love _ ,” he says. 

 

Keiji squeezes his hand tighter, lays his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. “That’s beautiful.” 

 

“Not as beautiful as you.” 

 

Keiji snorts, giggles, pulls away to look at Bokuto. “That was dumb.” 

 

“Hey, I was being sweet!” 

 

“And dumb.”

 

“Rude, ‘Kaashi!”

 

He offers a shrug in response, turning and grabbing Bokuto’s other hand. “So, Boku— Koutarou.” The name is sweet on his tongue, and the look he gets in return is worth the twist in his gut. “Do I get to call you my boyfriend now?” 

 

For the first time, Bokuto looks flustered, at a loss for words. If Keiji feels smug about it, he’s pretty sure he deserves the right. 

 

“Only if—” Bokuto clears his throat, looks away— “Only if I get to call you  _ my  _ boyfriend… Keiji.” At the name, Bokuto smiles wide, his head tilting to the right, showing off that lone dimple in his left cheek again. 

 

Keiji can feel the wide grin on his own face, breathes out in bliss. “But of course.” As he wraps his arms around Bokuto’s waist, Keiji is sure he has never smiled so fully in all his lives. 

 

*

 

_ The stars teach us how to love again.  _

 

“Kou.” 

 

Bokuto hums under him, a blanket of stars thrown over them both. It’s night, moonlight spilling through the blinds over  _ their  _ bed. Keiji traces patterns into Bokuto’s chest, feeling warm and content. 

 

“I love you.” 

 

Bokuto shifts so that they’re laying face to face, cups Keiji’s cheeks and looks right into his eyes with liquid gold. “And I love you, Keiji, so much.”

 

Keiji kisses Bokuto’s lips, slow and sweet, soft and full of promises. “More than there are stars in the sky,” he breathes across skin. 

 

When the arms wrap around him, lips meeting his again, eager, exploding with passion, Keiji decides that he needs nothing more than this. 

 

Together, they are the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> (and if they are to live another life, there will be a line of royal purple upon their arms, dotted with stars)
> 
> i have like a million ideas for this so mayhaps there will be more in a collection someday ;) 
> 
> thank you for reading! Let me know what you think~
> 
> Join me in my screaming/sobbing on [twitter](https://twitter.com/starsoakedskin?s=09)a


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